Runes of the Serpent
by Argentus 9
Summary: AU, but still a good read. A sporadic account of enigmatic Severus Snape's life: insights and theories on his past and, perhaps, future...
1. Ambitions

Series - Runes of the Serpent

Chapter I - Ambitions 

__

A/N - This OotP-incompatible story will no longer be updated. See note at the end.

Severus Snape gingerly nursed a bloody bruise on his temple. He had acted as though it were nothing at the time, of course, but now, having had two good hours to swell, it was causing him a searing migraine. 

He hastily brushed a section of lank hair over the spot as he saw a figure approach outside the compartment door. 

"Damn, Snape. I've been looking for you since King's Cross... why didn't you meet us at the platform?" Rosier snapped irritably as he slammed the sliding door behind him. "You didn't return any of my owls over the holiday either."

Severus studied his classmate up and down for a moment. His non-descript, almost no-colour, brown hair was looking shaggier than usual and he was carrying himself with more than even the usual arrogance. Severus had a moment of private amusement. What _was_ Evan's inane interest in gaining popularity? It was totally lost of Severus and, if anything, his opinion of his friend dropped a half-notch lower. It was perfectly appropriate that Evan Rosier should greet him with a curse and an accusation. Nothing else could be expected, not on a hellish day like this. 

He waved his hand impatiently. "Sorry. I have a headache and I just wanted some sleep and privacy before we get to the castle."

Evan eyed him suspiciously for a moment. He knew. Severus suspected that he had known for years where all of his mysterious (but cleverly explained away) injuries and maladies originated. But he'd never say anything... he knew better. 

"Are the others around? I... I'm fine now, what compartment are you in?" he said rather quickly. 

"Just a car back. Did you manage to get anything done over the summer?" Rosier asked, heading towards the door and pausing to raise his eyebrows inquiringly. 

Severus shook his head bitterly. He snatched up his bag and followed Rosier to a much more populated area of the train. "No... I didn't get a chance to do anything but some basic research in the books I already had," he answered. "Nothing groundbreaking."

The door slid open to reveal a significant throng of Slytherin students, most of them members of Severus' own 6th Year, but a few younger and older. He slid down into a circle of four students, already actively discussing. Evan, however, excused himself for a moment and approached another group. 

Adrian Lestrange was leaning his significantly broad shoulders against the window, the Northumbria scenery sliding past behind him, his arm around a nonchalant Eve Rockwell. The Slytherin Quidditch captain had been trying to entice Lestrange onto the team for a good four years, but the tall and burly Adrian would have nothing to do with it. Eve had a strange sort of beauty that Severus supposed impressed Lestrange. Her face was rather square and her brow was almost too heavy, but her eyes were piercing, burning and defiant, her dark hair spilled in waves down her back, and she had a Pict-like complexion and shortness that had something elfish about it. Caleb Avery was thin and fair so that he almost gave off the impression of sickly frailty. He adjusted his thick glasses on his blunt, freckled nose and muttered a greeting to Severus before returning to a thick, leather bound volume on his lap. Auvrey Wilkes was just donning his Hogwarts robes complete with Slytherin tie and crest. Severus had often thought that, had their company been in some generic fairy tale, Wilkes would be the deceitfully charming thief and assassin. He had an engaging smile and wide brown eyes that he could make convincingly innocent, which he often tactically employed when trying to win someone over. It would have disgusted Wilkes to know that his outward personality was must the same as Black's, his nemesis since early 1st Year. Severus didn't trust him as far as he could throw him. 

"Take a look at Rosier throwing himself at Narcissa," Wilkes muttered with a sneer as he shoved his Muggle disguise jacket into his steamer trunk. He laughed and dropped into a seat next to Caleb. 

"Bold," came the monosyllabic observation from Adrian. 

Severus looked down the aisle to where Evan was avidly conversing with a 7th Year girl. Her usual hard-eyed, disdainful expression had been momentarily replaced with petit little giggles and tossing of her long, straight, blonde hair. Any half-witted prat knew that Narcissa Winters was taken and jealously guarded. 

"Malfoy's going to destroy him," Severus noted casually as he watched Lucius seething in a nearby booth, looking very capable of dismembering Rosier in an instant if he dared touch the precious Narcissa. 

"What do you think about Necromancy?" Eve posed suddenly. 

"A little too macabre, don't you think?" Caleb said, putting aside the book in favour of a good Dark Arts debate. 

"Macabre? Not at all. I mean, it's a really difficult and complex branch and all, but its one of the oldest forms of Black Magick. Let's look into it more, I say," Auvrey said. 

"Seriously, when are you personally going to need to raise the dead?" Caleb argued disbelievingly. 

Auvrey Wilkes the Great Necromancer. Severus tried not to laugh aloud. Wilkes was ambitious to be sure, and he'd make a great spy or traitor or something, but he was rather lacking in magical ability. If he weren't such a master cheater, he would have failed out of Hogwarts years ago. 

Severus barely took part in the conversation, although they continued to touch on many of his favourite Dark Arts subjects. His headache, combined with the gentle motion of the train, was making him feel more ill than ever, but he dared not draw attention to it. Everyone but him had gathered numerous and intriguing bits of dangerous knowledge over the holiday. Well, what was it his fault if he couldn't just skip off to Knockturn Alley any time he wanted? 

"My dad bought out Burke. He had to merge with Borgin just to stay in business," Eve grinned maliciously. "We got some really interesting imports from Japan in August... anyone want to help me test out a list of Shinto nature hexes that I filched from the storeroom?"

"Nature hexes?" Rosier, who had finally returned, questioned doubtfully. "Doesn't sound particularly... I don't know... intimidating. What are you going to do, sic the next Herbology assignment on Pettigrew?" 

"No, you git. Don't you know _anything_ about Asian sorcery?..." 

Everyone had new collections of curses, volatile potions and the like. Severus, personally, had spent much of the past two months holed up in his room reading and rereading the same Dark Arts books that he'd had since 3rd Year. Well, he had them memorized anyway and that was more than he could say for any of his friends. They were deeply interested in the Dark Arts, to be sure, but they were so flighty, Severus thought. Harping along after every new little fad that came out. There was no one in the school as serious about it as he was. He would make up for lost time by spending his weekends in the Restricted Section of the Library. If they wouldn't teach it to him, he'd learn it himself. 

It was just twilight as the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station. The now throbbing pain in Severus' temple was not alleviated by the pangs of hunger than had started an hour ago. He'd be fine, he told himself, after he had something to eat and a decent night's sleep. He was damned if he'd go to the Infirmary to be fussed over by that madwoman Pomfrey. 

Pockets of twittering 1st Years milled around waiting for direction. They seemed more air-headed and childish with each passing year. He winced at Hagrid's booming voice which called them to the boats that would take them on the traditional journey across the lake. Severus was glad that he didn't have to put up with that nonsense anymore. He joined Caleb and Evan and they made their way up the High Street towards the horseless coaches. 

"Lovely to see you again, Snape, old chap! And how is our favourite serpentine comrade?" 

Severus suppressed a cringe of hate, and fingered his wand, seriously considering just turning around and spouting hexes in every direction. 

It was Potter who had spoken. His sarcasm was especially annoying and he knew it. He responded with a phrase which would have earned him a good two weeks detention from any teacher. 

"Touché. See you haven't changed." 

"What do you want?" Severus finally gave in and turned around. Potter was surrounded by his usual contingent. If there was anyone that rivalled Potter in Severus' intensity of hate, it was Sirius Black. He was standing beside James with that irritating smirk on his face. Lupin scraped in at third on the hit list. He was quiet and didn't go personally out of his way to irk Snape, but he was always in on the jokes... and besides, there was something indefinable about him that just _bothered _Severus. Never far from Potter, Black, and Lupin was Pettigrew. Even now he came puffing up behind his friends, late and out of the loop as always. Severus shot a nasty look at Pettigrew and he quailed appropriately. It was so easy, if you got the little dolt on his own, to terrorize him. 

Black mocked a look of outraged injured feelings. "Can't we even greet an old chum after a gruelling two months absence? We've so missed your Bram Stoker appeal, Snape." He suddenly turned serious. "Been having some Dark Arts fun on the train?" 

"Yeah, and why don't you shove off before I try it out on you," Severus snapped. He laughed coldly at the resulting look on Pettigrew's round face. "What? Scared, Pettigrew?" 

"Shut up," came the reply from Potter. They always had to stand up for him. 

"Shut up, yourself. You're the ones who came over here to bother us," Rosier said beside him. Black shifted his eyes to Rosier and a brief look of malice was exchanged between them. They'd gotten into a nasty scuff after the Quidditch Cup last year that penalized both Houses fifty points and earned them both detention and stitches. The relationship was not a good one. 

"Fine. You don't cross us and maybe we'll consider doing the same," Potter said, starting away toward the coaches, gang in tow. 

"Idiots," he heard Lestrange, who had just approached, say. He flexed his thick fingers as though itching to strangle something. If it weren't the first day of term, Severus would say have at it, but he wasn't quite ready for a run in with authority this early on. 

In short, the first day of Severus Snape's 6th Year was a bad one. Rather than being beneficial, as he had hoped, food had only aggravated his stomach. The celebratory and energy-charged atmosphere of the Great Hall's feast combined with the sight of whole throngs of people cheerily greeting the arrival of Potter and Black made him feel nauseous. 

He was lying down with his eyes closed in his dormitory. He hadn't bothered to undress, just collapsed, aching all over, on top of the blankets. He had closed the thick forest green curtains to his four-poster bed but it really wasn't necessary as it was absolutely dark in the subterranean dungeon dormitories. Most students complained of the Slytherin dormitories' location, but Severus found it perfect. He liked the cool dampness of the dungeons, and who needed sunlight anyway? he thought, in complete Gothic rebellion of the prevailing seventies mood. He took personal insult to the weird "aura" of the decade with all its Bohemian joint-smoking, horoscope-reading, Scarborough-Fair-going flowers and colour. 

Severus tried to concentrate on anything but the turning of his stomach. He may have practically asked for the bruising and the resulting pain, but what was this sickness about? It was probably just nerves, he thought. But maybe not... was he letting the old man get to him? Once the idea was conjured it began to take hold. He had never let his father bother him before. It wasn't deserving of his time and what did it matter if he thought of Severus as worthless? There was nothing different about this time, he tried to tell himself, trying to push away the thought that his father's ranting might finally be affecting him. 

He was surprised and also appalled to feel his eyes sting with unspilt tears. He blinked them back hastily. He had never, _never _cried as a result of corporal punishment. Not even when he was young, had he ever let his father see him cry during a beating. 

But it wasn't the actual blows that bothered him this time... he was sixteen and could take it easily enough, but the words... the _damn_ words. The old bastard had been sober enough that morning to cut him deep. 

A strong northern accent... _This is all that hellion of a mother of yours fault. If she weren't dead and buried I'd give _her _something to think about, right. _Clanking of empty bottles in the cupboards and muffled cursing. _Not even around to raise you in her demon ways. _

Demon ways. He always referred to witchcraft as such. _You don't have to talk about her like that. _

Shut up and I'll talk about me own dead wife however I want.

We have to be at King's Cross Station by eleven today. It's start of term. 

You and that foul school. That witch gave you all that... all that sorcery madness. Madness, that's what it is. Leaves me with a warlock son and nothing to live for, the she-devil! 

What do you care if I'm a wizard? Nothing I do matters to you. 

What do I care if me own son's a goddamn wizard!? Course I care! No family, no wife, just you-- spawn of a witch! 

Spawn of a witch. Half-human? _Fine. I'll get out of your miserable life as soon as I graduate. What did you even bother having me for if you were set to hate me right from the off?_

You think you were anything but an accident? Hoarse and mirthless laughter. 

__

Shut up. 

What?

Shut up! Everything seemed coloured red. _You think it's Mum's fault that you're drunk and redundant?! You just never stop, do you?! I - _Breaking of glass. 

_Mum? Hah! You _miss _her don't you!_ Crunch of glass shards. Incomprehensible mutterings of rage. _And don't you dare insult me... don't you... _

In retrospect, he should have let it pass, kept his mouth shut and kept the peace. The ride on the underground to King's Cross Station was a silent one and the old man had left him at the entrance, not willing to go anywhere near Platform 9 3/4. Also, looking back on it, it had been stupid to let anything like emotion creep into his argument. That was where he had gotten himself into trouble. Mum. Where had that come from, anyway? He hadn't used the word in ages. He didn't even remember Regina Snape very well. 

He wasn't sure why he let his father treat him the way he did. Severus was quite capable of cursing him into oblivion if he'd wanted to... he just never did it. It certainly wasn't out of any kind of love for the old man. Hah! He was only a pathetic Muggle after all (a heritage that Severus carefully kept from his friends' knowledge). 

Severus sat up and forced himself together. He'd never let himself fall apart like that again. It was ridiculous. Both his parents were dead to him and if he wanted to make it anywhere in life no one but himself was going to help him. He made up his mind then and there that he wasn't going home at the end of the year. He didn't know where exactly he'd go, but it didn't matter. Nothing was going to stand in the way of his ambitions. 


	2. Freedom of the Void

Series - Runes of the Serpent

Chapter II - Freedom of the Void

Severus had inconspicuously collected anything that he would possibly need from the house in Cheapside over the Christmas holidays... it was a rare event that he went home any time that it wasn't absolutely necessary, but he judged that if he was to avoid returning in July, he had best gather up things early and store them at Hogwarts till further notice. Of course, Luther Snape hadn't taken the slightest notice of his son leaving with loads more than he had come with. Nearly every item in his bedroom had been packed in various trunks and sacks, never to see 14 Sunninghill Road again. 

His personal floor and shelf space in the dormitory that he shared with Rosier, Lestrange, Wilkes, and Avery was virtually covered. No one thought to question it... inquisitive concern was a lacking element in this particular group of students' friendship. Snape thought all the better of the relationship for it. 

It was now late in January, the ancient castle chill, grey, and more academically stifling than usual with the upcoming midterm examinations close at hand. It was a period of sombre and arduous studying for Severus and many of his classmates. On this particular Saturday afternoon, however, his mind strayed temporarily from his _Early Social Reform Attempts on Goblins _essay for History of Magic and the recently deceased Professor Binns. He had some formulating plans of what to do with himself once the summer holidays started and he didn't return to his father's house...

It would have been ideal if he had had the chance to simply remain at Hogwarts over the summer, even with the lack of company. He didn't mind solitude by any means. Severus would have had the ample time to spend days on end in the library and dungeons, free of anyone to enforce discipline other than the occasional corridor-wandering caretaker. But this would most certainly induce questions, both from pupils and the Headmaster. He also could have requested lodging with a friend, but that felt somehow inappropriate and uncomfortable. But both of these options involved dependency on another's goodwill. Severus distinctly hated that. 

The most feasible arrangement that Severus could comprehend at the moment, what with everything else he'd had to worry about, was that he should take the Hogwarts Express back to London, but rather make his way to The Leaky Cauldron. He could scour Diagon and Knockturn Alleys for an opening somewhere... for he realized that with the lack of his father's government financial aide, he'd need something to live off of. It was fortunate that the tuition for this year at least had been paid up front in full in September (before Luther had had the opportunity to drink it). Maybe if he worked enough for a well-off enough store, they'd at least provide for a room at the Leaky Cauldron and his tuition. After all, it was only a year earlier than he had expected to be completely out on his own. He'd have had to deal with this sooner or later. 

Severus desperately hoped that this would work out as best it could. He'd much prefer a spot in Knockturn if he could help it... there'd be much less chance of running into taunting classmates. 

Severus caught sight of Rosier making his way through the throngs of students and massive, black leather furniture that was spread rather haphazardly throughout the low, long, narrow common room. "Here to draw me into another Quidditch match, are you, Evan?" he tried to say with a tone of amusement, but it was through closed teeth. 

"Certainly even a great depressing bore such as yourself has to admit that a little fresh air is healthy here and there!" 

Truthfully, Snape preferred the cool, windowless quiet of the dungeons, but didn't say so. "Who's playing?" he asked. 

Rosier looked entirely disgusted. "I understand that you don't follow the pro league, but can't you even keep up with your own school?" 

"What? Is Slytherin playing today?" 

"No, you prat. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw." 

"Then what do I care for it? You might try opening a Charms book every decade or two." 

Rosier waved it off. "But if Gryffindor wins this match they'll be only a victory short of Slytherin! If Ravenclaw pulls ahead to second, we can surely beat _them_ in the Cup!" 

"Brilliant. You can inform me of every thrilling detail after the game." 

It appeared that Rosier would not take no for an answer. If Severus had not been so tired, he would have had the usual energy for a struggle, but, as it was, he gave in, submitting himself to the bitter cold that he would undoubtedly face in the outdoors. Besides, even he was becoming uninterested in his own backward sullenness. On their ascent from the depths of Hogwarts, Rosier launched into a one-sided discussion of tactics and both sides' chances of victory. Severus largely ignored him. Evan didn't actually admit that he was a rabid fan of Quidditch... it was rather superficial for someone who considered himself a Dark Wizard in the making, after all. He did listen to every professional Appleby Arrows / Wimbourne Wasps game on his contraband WWN, however. There was no question that if he ever been given the chance to play on the Slytherin team, he'd have taken it, revelling in the ensuing popularity. It was really very sickening. It was really very sickening how transparent he was. Severus didn't care for the excitement of the sport much... his prime interest was the crushing of Gryffindor, something which hadn't been occurring often enough for his taste lately. 

The walk down the frosted grounds of Hogwarts was a noisy one. Students poured out of the castle from every orifice it seemed, making for the pitch. Severus hated crowds and he frowned as they were swept down the slopes in the chattering hosts of temporarily liberated pupils. A throng of young, giggling Hufflepuff girls bumped into him rather violently from behind, but they took no notice. He especially scowled when he caught a snippet of their tittering conversation. It particularly highlighted the dashing charm and good looks of one Mr. Sirius Black. He'd choose to ignore that.

Severus avoided listening to the prevalent talk that surrounded the "legendary wonders" of Black. It was perfectly ridiculous: all the hype that featured him and Potter. But since the beginning of 6th Year, even Severus had noticed the growing obsession that girls of all ages and Houses seemed to have for the Gryffindor. He would not have been greatly surprised if there had been a fan club established in his honour. Wilkes had nearly lost his mind of rage when he observed his newly acquired girlfriend eying Black for a few seconds too long in Potions class. Severus realised with a cringe that if either Potter or Black managed to pull off some fantastic stunt in today's Quidditch game, it would only become that much worse. 

Blue and red banners waved in various areas of the stadium as they entered and found a seat in the relatively neutral green section of stands, dotted sporadically with blue eagle pennants. The January wind was sub-freezing and immediately seemed to sandblast his face of all moisture and warmth that had been there to begin with, although it certainly added an amount of colour, which may or may have not been an improvement, depending upon the opinion. Severus glanced at the two-dimensional steel grey sky and couldn't decide whether he felt claustrophobically confined under the close matte ceiling, or infinitely small when considering the endless space that lay just beyond it. Either way, he hadn't the time to consider further, for a sonorous voice exploded in the ears of the gathered students. 

"Welcome, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Slytherins, to the 13th Quidditch game of the season! The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams are vying for the points here today!" Severus jogged his memory for the elusive name of the announcer, a Hufflepuff. Fletcher. Something Fletcher. It didn't matter.

Severus watched the white, billowing figure of black-haired, golden-eyed Madam Hooch stride onto the pitch. She reverently set the chest which encased the four Quidditch balls in the centre circle as fourteen more figures entered the oblong field. There were deafening cheers from either end of the stadium. Severus didn't need the aide of the newly invented and wildly popular Omnioculars to make out the identities of those down on the field. Potter looked overly serious, jaw grindingly set, face pinched against the cold. Black did not share his friend's solemnity of the sacred game and grinned openly, jauntily carrying his broom over his shoulder. He nearly found himself listening for the inevitable intake of breath from every female in the vicinity, although the howling wind did not bring it to his ears if there had indeed been one. 

"Madam Hooch voices her expectations... and... there's the whistle! She launches the Quaffle and this game has _begun_!" Fletcher shouted from the highest vantage box. 

There was a confusing swirl of colour as numerous broomsticks and players rocketed into the air, a confusion so as to almost result in a mesh of purple. 

"Geoff Flynn of Ravenclaw takes the Quaffle and makes for the Gryffindor goal posts!" He made a hiss of anxiety. "A strategically hit Bludger from Wessex nearly takes his head off there! _That_ looked like a broken jaw in the making! North intercepts the ball for Gryffindor! He's passed it to Black and... Black takes a risky charge for the goal... Ravenclaw captain Will Brody saves the play! No point to Gryffindor!" 

The game continued at much the same pace for an hour until Severus vaguely realised that he could no longer move his toes. "A sad slip for Keeper Gwen Nott! Ten points to Ravenclaw! That brings the score to 70-40, Ravenclaw. Captain Potter takes the toss in Quaffle for Gryffindor... no, Ravenclaw ball... no, Gryffindor... Potter intercepts the pass and he's speeding down... oh! Bludger in the side! From the direction of McCoy, I'd say! Good God, he's still got the Quaffle! He passes to Black. Black to North. North to Potter... he scores! 70-50! An incredible tactic from Gryffindor!" 

Severus wouldn't have minded in the least the game if it hadn't been so damned cold. He'd sat through games five times as long before. No one else complained though, and Severus suffered through the needles of ice that seemed to be piercing his feet. He found it hard to believe that he would return to the castle and not find his lower half entirely frostbitten, although his reasonable side told him it wasn't so. "Wait! It looks as though Ravenclaw Arthur Severn's seen the Snitch! He's speeding toward the Ravenclaw goalposts... Farrelly leaves her aerial orbit above the pitch and takes a steep dive! She's catching him up! That Nimbus 1500 will outrun a Shooting Star any day! There's the flash of gold... they're just level pegging... Charlotte Farrelly captures the Golden Snitch for a Gryffindor victory! Gryffindor wins! 200-70!" 

Much later that night, Severus occupied his thoughts staring at the ceiling above his bed in the subterranean Slytherin dormitories. The Gryffindor triumph had been disappointing to be sure. The resulting celebrations in the Great Hall had been less than enjoyable for the blue and green House tables. Severus absently wondered, while toying with a corner of his quilt between two fingers, about a specific remark from Sirius in the Entrance Hall before everyone retired. He had said that Snape was jealous, that everyone could see it. It had been a preposterous notion at the time, but now Severus asked himself the same question. For a moment, there was a rush of revelation and maybe fear in his veins... perhaps he was. But Severus had become an expert in the art admittance followed shortly by denial. He considered the matter and allowed himself to come to terms with the fact that there may indeed have been a twinge of jealously. Severus thought for a moment and decided that it was to his credit to have realised and fought out the weakness. Realising one's weaknesses would help in overcoming them. Severus added yet another point to his mental list of resolutions and vowed to, thereafter, not envy Potter or Black, but simply hate them all the more for causing him the shame in the first place. Looking at the concave, lacklustre, stone ceiling above him, he was strongly reminded of the cloudy sky from some hours previous. Whereas he hadn't been able to determine the reaction he had derived from the feeling earlier, he now felt distinctly closed in. Severus drove his consciousness to contemplate the black void that stretched out beyond the walls of this world. The void. Nothing but distant sparks of remote stars, no hindrances. The idea was slightly disturbing... no grounding, no up or down... and yet somehow enticing. 


	3. The Benefits of Lemongrass

Series - Runes of the Serpent

Chapter III - The Benefits of Lemongrass

Remus Lupin was suffering. It was something bordering on despair. 

Severus had been unable to ignore his repeatedly botched Confounding Serum for the past three classes. He was regularly subjected to the weekly torture of observing the pathetic scene of Lupin at his lowest point, namely: Advanced Potions. As it stood now, Severus had the biting urge to inform him that he was again omitting the critical Augury liver, but restrained himself, realising that a gesture such as that came close to charity. And he was not a philanthropist. 

Rather, while deftly carving up a strip of grey-green Graphorn brains, Severus looked sidelong at his strewn over table and scrabbled out, stained notes. "Mr. Lupin," a hoarse voice issued from the opposite end of the room. Remus looked up, startled. 

Professor Von Lochstein slid down the aisle between the Slytherin and Gryffindor factions. He was a prodigiously tall wizard, aged, bony shouldered, and furtive, with thin, sharp eyes, chopped grizzled beard and hair, and pale, spidery hands. He was forever draped in a permanent, wraithlike shade of grey. Severus respected him as far as teachers were concerned, although, according to records, he had been a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts some ninety years ago. "Mr. Lupin," he repeated. "The potion is a delicate process. Your stirring fervour is uncalled for." There were slight snickers behind Severus. "I notice that you have not even prepared the liver for addition in..." he produced a tarnished silvery pocket watch, seemingly ancient in make, "... two minutes." Lupin frankly looked frantic. 

"Mr. Snape, give Lupin your left over ingredients, please."

The teacher was greeted with a cold stare. "Take it as a compliment on your proficiency," the aged wizard said with a slight tone of impatience. "Go ahead..." 

"Yes, sir..." Severus scraped some remaining liver (perfectly diced, he noticed) off a sheet of waxy paper with a knife and unceremoniously deposited it on Lupin's desk. For his part, Lupin looked just as offended. Well, he thought, at least he wouldn't have to watch that inept ass fumble through another potion. It was just painful. He silently thanked someone-- anyone-- that Pettigrew had not made it into Advanced Potions. Severus made sure to give Lupin a patronising glance before returning to his seat. 

"Thank you, Snape," Von Lochstein said. "Now... can anyone tell me _why_ the organs of Augury are so _essential _to this potion? And _why _if you do not add them, the mixture is likely to _erupt _upon heating as Mr. Lupin has demonstrated _more than once_." 

The answer was one which Severus had known practically since First Year, but he was not in the mood to participate. He returned to the slow simmering of the lemongrass broth that must be piping hot before the addition of anything else. He stoked the tiny fire under the cauldron and twisted a bit more of the grass into the steaming water. 

"You know, Snape--" a whisper issued from the Gryffindor side of the room, "-- I've heard that lemongrass works absolute _wonders_ on greasy skin and hair. The girls insist that _Witch Weekly _knows all the best remedies. Have you read it?" 

_Don't turn. Don't turn. Just ignore it. Don't turn. You'll regret it. _Severus turned. He met two pairs of eyes, both of them full of laughter... and could not think of a comeback for Potter and Black. He wracked his brain for one and couldn't come up with anything that didn't sound like a ten-year-old-girl response. Who needed words? His gaze flicked toward a half-full bottle of ink lying among Black's supplies and he twitched his wand under his desk. The bottle shivered under the spell and promptly shot quick as an arrow at the side of Potter's head. Not that it _hurt _him badly, per se... only shattered apart and splattered the whole left side of his face and most of his hair with the oily black dye. 

He smirked. "Ah. Why don't you try that out at the next makeover party and tell me about it? As it seems _you've _read _Witch Weekly_." A dozen Slytherins grinned wickedly and the Gryffindors looked murderous.

Potter appeared stunned, and removed his now opaque glasses, rubbing the back of his hand over his face. He probed gently at the site of impact on his skull. 

Severus barely had time to think before Black started from his chair in a very threatening manner. 

"GENTLEMEN. Is there something I should be informed of back here?" Von Lochstein swept down the aisle in a second. He surveyed Potter and advised him pertly to make a visit to the lavatory and wash up. "Who started this?" Neither Black nor Snape answered. "You two as well as Potter will each receive ten points from your Houses." Black flinched, but silently sat down and returned to his potion making... grinding a handful of mugwort somewhat violently with a pestle. 

"I'm especially disappointed in you, Mr. Snape," the professor observed quietly as he walked past, carrying on with his lecture seamlessly after the interruption. Severus was irritated that the immaturity of Black and Potter had resulted in _his_ losing favour with Von Lochstein. He figured it wouldn't last, but it did arouse a little guilt within Snape... not many people complimented him on anything, but the Potions teacher seemed to be impressed with Severus' unique ability. Severus brushed his limp hair out of his eyes as he returned to his work and thought to himself that perhaps a shower _was_ in order...

The meditative quality that Potions class usually held over Severus had been effectively ruined that day. It was unfortunate, for he felt especially strained lately-- it was mid-May and he did not have much time before summer arrived and he was essentially homeless. He regretfully gathered his things and shoved his scrubbed cauldron onto an assigned shelf. He'd rather spend the rest of the day down there opposed to going to Defence Against the Dark Arts and later Care of Magical Creatures. The former was simply an annoying obstruction to his real pursuits and the latter was nothing short of ridiculous. 

Walking up the inclined corridors of the dungeons, Lupin happened to accidentally bump into Severus. "Er... sorry," he muttered, hurrying away up the tunnel before Severus resorted to cursing him into oblivion. He couldn't help but get a twinge of that unnerving, impalpable feeling that he sometimes sensed about Lupin. There was something _not right _with him. 

Part of it was connected to the fact that Remus Lupin tended to go mysteriously absent every once in a while and no one seemed to take any note of it, as though it didn't happen. Come to think of it, it had been a good few weeks since Lupin last "fell ill", or "went home to visit his ailing mother", or was "called away due to 'emergency'". Severus made a note to himself to keep a close guard over Lupin and watch for any signs of one of these periodical oddities... if he caught him in some forbidden act he may even have the privilege of seeing him expelled...


	4. Author's Farewell Note

Author's Note

I'm sorry, but this story will no longer be updated. This story was written long before the release of Order of the Phoenix and it's now simply so incompatible with the new information and my new concepts of Snape that I can't really continue with it. 

But I still like this story, so it will remain available. However, I have so many other ideas for post-OotP stories that I can't, in good conscious, continue putting my time into this lost cause. 

Await other, Snape-centric stories from me! 


End file.
